Cooperstown
by LemonSupreme
Summary: It's been five years since Mike retired from baseball. He hasn't talked to Ginny since leaving the Padres. Will a reunion at the Baseball Hall of Fame bring them together or will there be too much baggage left over from their final game for them to ever move past it.


**A/N: I wrote this a year and a half ago and promptly forgot about it. Almost deleted it this week when I was purging some old files. Decided it might as well be posted. Hope you agree. No beta. All mistakes are mine, both grammatical and baseball related.**

* * *

 **Prologue**

Oh what a difference a year can make.

Any player injury causes strife on a ball club, but fearing that the league's first female pitcher was done for good with less than one season under her belt? That was simply unacceptable. Al had demanded she be given every consideration. When Oscar waffled, Al had made a promise. He'd retire at the end of the following season (something the front desk had been hinting at) but he wanted number 43 on the mound for his final year.

The suits had agreed and sent Ginny through the best rehab facility available. They'd coddled her a bit, but her team didn't mind. When she came back for Spring Training in the new season, her teammates had welcomed her with open arms. Her stats had been disappointing at first, but after a few rough starts, she found her groove.

Finding that groove had roughly coincided with finally rekindling a solid friendship and working relationship with her Captain. Mike had helped her through that rough patch at the beginning of the season and had continued to mentor her as the months passed. Everyone knew this would be Mike Lawson's final season and it was clear to anyone paying attention that he was grooming Baker to be his legacy.

Even though it was his last year in the bigs, Mike Lawson was playing the best he had in years. Baker's and Lawson's on field success rubbed off on their team mates and soon the Padres were on their way to finally getting a championship…

* * *

 **Part One** **– The night before game 7 of the World Series**

They are sitting in his car which is parked in the player's lot at Petco. They had finished their workouts and cleaned up. Now all that's left is waiting for tomorrow and the chance of a lifetime to win the World Series.

"You wish you could pitch tomorrow?" Mike asks. He's smiling. Ever since game four, the man can't stop smiling.

"Of course I do, but Benton will do great. His fastball is killer."

"Yeah, well. I wish it was you."

She shrugs, but can't hide her own satisfied smile. "It's been a good year, hasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"You doing okay? Regretting your decision to retire?"

Mike's smile falters for the first time, but he shakes his head. "No. I mean, if I gotta go out, what better way than on top?"

"Good point." Ginny averts her eyes. In the year since that night in front of Boardner's, things have changed. He and Rachel had tried to reconcile, but failed. Mike still has his choice of all the groupies, but he no longer chooses any of them. Ginny had dated Noah for a while, but when that romance had fizzled, she hadn't bothered to seek out anyone else.

They don't talk about the fact that they are both single and have been for a while. They don't talk about the attraction that has never waned and they most certainly don't talk about what could be waiting for them after Mike retires.

At least they haven't talked about it before tonight.

"So, after tomorrow…" Mike turns in his seat, watching her carefully.

"After tomorrow, what?" Ginny feels her heart begin to hammer in her chest.

"I'll be retiring. Win or lose, after tomorrow's game, we won't be teammates anymore."

"Yeah. Tomorrow." Ginny hates how ragged her voice sounds. She looks his way, gauging his expression.

His eyes burn into hers and he shocks her when he speaks. "You remember that time when we almost kissed?" He speaks of it in the same nostalgic tone he uses when he reminisces about his early career. If she weren't watching his eyes – if she couldn't see the heat there – maybe she'd take his words as teasing.

Or maybe not.

He reaches out and strokes her cheek with a calloused index finger. She feels a spark of liquid heat surge through to her core. If Ginny had thought that these past months of brief touches and lingering glances had all been in her imagination, she's definitely changing her mind now. "Yeah, I remember." She doesn't know what else to say.

"Well, after tomorrow…" his gaze is hungry as it drops to her lips and leans closer. She feels a reciprocating need swirling in her gut. Is this happening? Is this thing finally happening?

He moves in, hesitating for the briefest moment. When she doesn't back away, he erases the space between them, molding his lips to hers.

And it feels like home. There is comfort in this kiss - a rightness that she can't explain. But more than the familiarity of his scent and the warmth of his arms as they wrap around her; she feels a burning heat that makes her ache. She wants this man more than she's ever admitted – even to herself. She wants him more than she's ever wanted anything.

"You wanna come over to my place?" His voice is husky with need.

"I don't date ball players." Her voice is barely a whisper and lacks all conviction.

He smiles, nosing into the curls by her ear. He nibbles on her ear lobe, gently tugging. "Not gonna be a ball player after tomorrow."

"Yeah, but –"

"Yeah, but do you wanna come over to my place?"

Ginny feels her body responding to his closeness in a way it never has for any other man. A million thoughts are running through her head, but all she can do is say, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

* * *

 **Part Two – Five years later – The Baseball Hall of Fame - Cooperstown NY**

The flash photography makes Mike's eyeballs ache. The constant chatter of the crowd reminds him how happy he's been to live a simpler life these last five years. Part of him wants to leave right now, get on a plane and head back to his fishing cabin.

Retirement has its perks.

But then Mike reminds himself to put on his big boy pants and face the music, because _this_ isn't music everyone gets to face. There are folks who would kill to be in his shoes today. Some of them are even here. He knows Blip made it. Al and Oscar are around somewhere. Stubbs and Salvi and a thousand others had blown up his phone and email with congratulatory messages when it was all made official. Rachel had called and left a voicemail. He didn't bother to listen to it.

The one message he'd hoped to see had never materialized. He tries not to dwell on it. Much.

Five years. Where had the time gone? And who the fuck are all these people? Mike feels a scowl curling across his mouth, but schools his features. This is the fucking Baseball Hall of Fame. He should be happy. And he is happy. Isn't he?

He nods at idiotic questions and forces a smile at all the faces who are pressing into his personal space. Some of these people look familiar in a vague sort of way, but most of them are strangers. They want to share in his glory for a moment. Tomorrow they won't remember his name.

He could not care less.

His suit is new and it feels scratchy and constricting. He had his hair cut and his beard trimmed yesterday. The beard has some patches of gray in it now, but Mike figures he looks about as good as he can. He's forty-three years old but thanks to two bionic knees, he feels pretty damn good. In the first two years after he'd said goodbye to his baseball career, he'd dropped twenty pounds. He's still Mike, but leaner now – closer in stature to the way he'd looked when he'd first been featured on posters that high school girls might have hung in their rooms.

High school girls like…. No. He isn't going to think about that. About her.

A bleached blond with long legs and a flirty smile grabs his arm and tells him that the ceremony will be starting soon. He needs to get into place. The girl with the long legs leads him through the throng of people and Mike finds himself watching the crowd for a familiar face.

A specific familiar face.

A face he yearns to see even if he won't admit to himself just how much.

But he doesn't see her anywhere. This doesn't stop him from looking. She has to be here. This is her night too.

His name is printed in on a small square of parchment which sits on the gray chair he's lead to. The chair is one of many on the stage, facing a smallish auditorium. Mike notices that the chair next to his has Ginny Baker's name on it. His heart lurches. They'll be sitting together on the stage. She won't be able to avoid him tonight. Not like last time they'd faced a crowd….

The last time he'd seen Ginny Baker in person had been a week after the Padres had won the World Series. Mike had wanted to revel in his team's success but his happiness was tempered. Everyone assumed he was in a funk because he'd played his last game. The truth was that it was solely Ginny and not his pending retirement that weighed heavily. Mike was worried for his Rookie. Very worried.

They'd stood together with the team as the crowds cheered. Their teammates coursed around them in a living breathing celebration. He'd noted the sling that held Ginny's arm close to her body. He'd taken in the brace that framed her casted elbow, the drawn paleness of her face. She'd tried to smile, but the attempt fell flat and it was clear she was living in a fog of pain killers and misery.

She hadn't looked at him that day. Wouldn't talk to him. Refused to acknowledge his existence.

That image is still living in his head when current Ginny walks onto the platform. Her hair is longer than he remembers. The cast and arm brace are long gone. She's wearing a simple blue suit. The slacks are tapered, showing off long trim legs. She's wearing heels. Her expression is reserved, her movements graceful.

He wants to touch her. He wants to wrap her in a hug and bury his face in her hair. He wants….

"Lawson." She nods in his direction. Her voice is cool and distant. She doesn't hold eye contact for long, seating herself carefully on her chair.

"Hey, Gin. How are you? I've tried to -"

She shakes her head as the emcee begins to speak to the crowd. Her message is clear. This isn't the time. Mike scowls. He's familiar with that message. It's all he's gotten from her for the past five years.

* * *

During the induction ceremony, there is a special Padres presentation. Mike glances over his shoulder as the video starts on a giant screen behind the stage. He feels goose bumps rise as he realizes what they will inevitably be showing. He looks at Ginny. Her expression is frozen. She stares straight ahead, her shoulders stiff.

Behind them and around them, the booming narration begins: _"Game Seven of the World Series is always an epic event for those involved, but for two of MLB's players being inducted into the Hall of Fame tonight, Game Seven was not only game changing; it was career ending._

 _Ginny Lawson, the first female MLB player in history, was on her way up and it seemed like the Championship was just one step on her journey to the top. Mike Lawson, on the other hand, was a beloved veteran of the game and knew that Game Seven would be his last._

 _There was no way for Ginny Baker to have known it would also be hers…."_

Mike ignores the voice. He knows this story so well that he doesn't need a narrator. The Padres had trailed by three in the eighth. Salvi had gotten on first. Voorhies had walked. Blip had rounded things out with a single. With the bases loaded, Mike Lawson had walked to the batter's box. He tapped home base three times, watching as tufts of dust rose from the surface of the plate. He got into position. He let the first pitch go by – too far outside. He'd swung at the second and missed. Cursing, he'd found his position again and concentrated on breathing.

And then it happened. A pitch so perfect – a pitch so incredibly sweet – Mike had felt a grin pulling at his lips before the bat even hit the ball. He knew it was a grand slam. Knew it in his bones before the ball left the park. He trotted around the bases, grinning and soaking up the sounds of fans chanting his name.

But it had been back in the dugout that he'd truly felt the happiest. Ginny was there, grinning like an idiot. "Way to go, Old Man." She'd sounded perfectly normal, but he saw the heat in her eyes. Without saying another word, they both found themselves remembering their shared passion from the night before.

It was Al who broke them out of their reverie. "Hey, Baker. How would you feel about relieving in the next inning?"

Baker's smile disappeared. Her face paled. "The ninth inning of game seven of the fucking World Series where we have a one point lead?"

Al shrugged sheepishly. "Listen. Doc says Milo can't pitch yet. His back is still messed up. We used Peterson last night and Benton is done. You are the freshest arm on my bench. What do you say?"

She'd looked at Mike, clearly needing her Captain's input.

Later, he would kick himself for assuming a night so sweet could end in any other way than perfection. He would wish he'd shaken his head or asked Al if he was really sure. Anything, but what he'd actually done. "You may never make it this far again. How can you say no?" He'd nodded encouragingly, and she had (of course) agreed to Al's suggestion.

"Allright, Skip. Let me warm up."

She'd pitched perfectly, protecting their single run lead like the champ she had become. Every wind up, every release was sheer poetry. There were two outs and the tying run was on second. Ginny clearly wanted to wrap up the series without going into extra innings. They were only one out away from victory when she'd pitched one of her famous screwballs and the batter had connected.

Later, the slow motion replay of that hit would break viewing records on You Tube. Statisticians evaluated that the chances of it happening were astronomically small.

The ball had been hit with incredible force and the line drive had sailed perfectly toward the mound and Ginny's pitching arm had been angled just so...

The ball had sounded like a bomb going off when it shattered Ginny Baker's right arm before bouncing to the ground. Her cry of anguish had brought Mike from the plate to her side in a heartbeat. It was sheer habit that caused him to grab the ball and throw it to first where the out ended the game, and the series.

The fireworks signaled the win but the newest World Series Champions weren't celebrating just yet. Instead, they watched in horror as the paramedics attempted to wrap Ginny's arm which was lying at an odd angle. Ginny had looked up at Mike, her eyes blank with shock. "Mike?" she'd asked.

"I'm right here, Rookie," he'd said. She nodded before passing out. The pain was simply too great.

Later he tried to visit her at the hospital but she wasn't having any visitors. Other than the one team event she went to a week later, he hadn't seen her in person again.

Until tonight.

* * *

After the induction ceremony and the press room and the Sports Illustrated interview, Mike finds himself at a party. It's the kind of party he hates. He sidles up to a bar and orders a beer. He loosens his tie and slumps his shoulders, staring at the bottle that appears in front of him like magic.

He's on his second when he feels her presence at his side. She doesn't say anything or reach out in any way, but he knows it's her. Slowly, he looks up. "Baker."

Ginny isn't drunk, but it's pretty clear that the glass of wine in her hand isn't her first tonight. When he nods at an empty bar stool next to his, she slides in. "Lawson."

"So are you talking to me now, or is this a dream?" Sadness hangs on every word. He watches as a flash of pain crosses her features. He wants to reach out and touch her cheek. He wants to run his hands through her hair. Mike shakes his head and looks at his beer. He begins to peel off the label. He can't look at her right now and he definitely can't touch her. He feels his cheeks heating with frustration and need and anger.

"Yeah, I guess I am ready to talk," she says, setting her wine glass on the bar. "Seems like it's time."

"Seems like it might be five fucking years too late, if you ask me, but whatever."

She sucks in a deep breath and exhales slowly. "I'm sorry, Mike. This isn't easy for me, okay? I've wanted to call you for a while now but I always lost my nerve."

"Why?" Mike asks without looking up. "What about me would make you feel that way? What did I do?" He's just as confused now as he was when he first realized she was ghosting him. Mike looks at her, his chin set at a stubborn angle. "I called you, Ginny. I texted. I sent you flowers. I wrote you a goddamned letter spilling my guts. And you know what I got back? Nothing." He picks up his bottle and takes a deep pull.

Ginny's eyes blaze with an emotion he can't name. Fear? Anger? He doesn't know. She takes a shaky breath. "I blamed you, all right? For a long time, I blamed you."

"Blamed me for what?" He has no idea what she is talking about.

"Everything, Mike. I blamed you for making me break my no ballplayers rule the night before the game. Figured that jinxed us. I blamed you for my ruined arm because you said I should relieve in the ninth. I blamed you for getting that final out and winning the game when I was lying in the dirt with my arm shattered like a fucking light bulb smashed under a boot."

Mike can't hide his disbelief. "Jesus, Gin. I threw the ball out of reflex. My mind was on you."

"I know." The fire in her eyes has died.

He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't understand."

"I know that _now_. It took me three years of intensive therapy and I'm not talking about PT. By the time I was ready to talk to you, I heard you were dating that girl with the cooking show. I didn't want to say anything that would make you feel uncomfortable or dig up ancient history. Clearly you'd moved on. Figured I'd blown my chance."

"I wasn't dating her."

Ginny shakes her head. "I saw the pictures in _People_."

"And you know from experience that the paps always have their stories straight?" He shakes his head in frustration. "I had some time on my hands and I love to cook and I'd asked my agent if I could maybe put together a cookbook. It wasn't a big deal. He knew her agent so they set it up. I just thought I could learn from her. We got to know each other but we're friends. That's all."

Ginny takes a drink of her wine and looks at him. She looks more than a little confused. "You're writing a cook book?"

"Yeah. It will be available in a few months. The title is _Lawson's Home Plate_."

" _Lawson's Home Plate_ ?" Her hands clench into fists. "Seriously? And you aren't dating her?"

"Nope." He shakes his head, suddenly feeling very tired. "Not dating anyone. Haven't dated anyone since Rachel and I broke up for good."

"Rachel." Ginny nods, her jaw tight. "You guys got back together about a minute after we got our series rings."

"Listen, you weren't talking to me. I was alone and facing retirement and I didn't know what I'd done to piss you off and she was there. For a while, she was saying all the right things and I made myself think I'd made a mistake when we broke up before."

"And?"

"And I realized how wrong I was pretty damn quickly. She and I are beyond done – have been for a few years now. I came to your place after I figured it out. Was going to beg you to talk to me. I knocked forever but you never answered."

Ginny has deflated. She looks tired and sad. "I really am sorry."

They sit drinking quietly for a while. Finally, Mike turns to her. "Why did it matter?"

"Why did what matter?"

"After you went through therapy and stopped blaming me, why did it matter if I had a girlfriend or not?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

"Yeah. I think you do. That night before Game Seven. That night meant something to you."

She doesn't answer, staring into her drink.

"And it meant something to me too, Gin. I've never been able to get that night out of my head. Never been able to forget the way it felt to hold you in my arms."

She brushes away a tear that has fallen. "Mike." His name is like a prayer. "It's too late. Five years is too long. We can't go back."

Mike reaches out. His hand falls on her wrist. The touch is sweet. It is innocent. But the feelings it sparks inside her are anything but. Ginny feels her heart hammering as she looks down at his fingers squeezing around her own. "Too late," she says again.

"But what if it's not?"

Tears are flowing freely now. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I loved you five years ago and I love you today and I'm never going to stop loving you. You are the only reason I came to Cooperstown. When I saw you walk onto the stage, I thought I might be having a heart attack."

Ginny smiles nervously, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. "Well, you are old."

He smiles slowly, hope flickering within. "Yeah, I'm old. And I'm not getting any younger, and I came here to see you –"

"Being inducted into the Baseball hall of fame was just an excuse to see me?" she asks him with a teary smirk.

"I don't give a shit about the Hall of Fame." His smile has faded and his eyes burn into hers.

"Yeah, right." Ginny's voice is small and unbelieving.

He shrugs. "Well, maybe I do care a little bit about the Hall of Fame."

She throws her head back and fills the space with that horsey laugh he loves so much. She's not crying anymore and his heart swells, relishing the way it makes him feel to watch her face split into a delighted grin. "I missed you," he says.

Ginny reaches out and grasps his tie, giving it a tiny yank. "Missed you too, Lawson."

"You want to give this a try? This thing between us?"

"We haven't even talked in five years."

"But not a day went by where you weren't on my mind."

She nods in agreement, feeling the same way. "How would we even start?"

His shoulders relax as relief washes over him. "First, we get out of here." Mike glances around. The party had died down some time ago. Remaining stragglers are huddled around tables and not paying Mike and Ginny any attention at all.

"And go where?"

He stands, stepping closer to her bar stool, leaning in until his breath feathers hot against her cheek. "I'm thinking we go to my hotel room and don't leave for a week."

Ginny laughs softly as he pulls her from the barstool and into his arms. "Mmm, sounds nice." She presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before whispering, "And then?"

MIke smiles down at her. "I can think of a lot of things, but to start with - do you like to fish?"

 **End.**

* * *

 **A/N: Ginny Baker as described in this story (having only two years of MLB play under her belt) would not truly be eligible for the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown NY. Assume for the sake of this story that all outstanding requirements were waved for her because of her status as first ever female pitcher in the MLB.**


End file.
